somewhere I have never travelled

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyondany experience,your eyes have their silence:in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look will easily unclose methough i have closed myself as fingers,you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i andmy life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,as when the heart of this flower imaginesthe snow carefully everywhere descending;nothing which we are to perceive in this world equalsthe power of your intense fragility:whose texturecompels me with the color of its countries,rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closesand opens;only something in me understandsthe voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

ee cummings

that's a little poetry to start off your day.

I spent the weekend in my own bed after three weeks of sleeping up the road. That's no euphemism as you may have gathered I have been housesitting at the opposite end of the block. The child has just arrived and seems in good spirits as he was carrying a fistful of brightly coloured ribbons that I might need to photograph later. I will resist describing my mood as depressed or cheerful or rancid or any type of blanket term that would give only one perspective towards my current hormonal balance. I will admit that I'm a little tired, but that is the result of having to sleep in a little twin bed and being woken by the whining dog at 6am and then bothered by the cat during my attempt at another hour and a half of sleep.

It's difficult to write a blog post and keep things coherent while minding a rather wild child. It's taken me forty minutes to write all this so far... since duty has repeatedly called me away from my computer.

Anyhow, as the dog howls outside (similar to the wail of a banshee methinks) I return to my post by the table and ponder the lesser questions of my life. Like when or if I'm going to trim and thin out my hair. I balance this lesser question of life with reflections of my weekend... which despite my snappish tendency of yesterday (Sunday) evening (it is very possible that I was acting out of character) was very enjoyable. Friday evening was full of Caribbean flavour, Saturday was an afternoon of successful sidekick shopping and an evening of cinematic mediocrity.

For the record Sahara is not a great movie. It is not even a good movie. It had some promise as B actor Matthew McConaughey was nicely tanned and often appeared shirtless or wearing a warbrobe in a nice array of deep blues and turquoise that accentuated his sun assisted skin colour. However, as leader of the brute squad (... see W.'s post for his rationale for the bruises on my body, thereby justifying his new label as leader of the brute squad...) rightly pointed out McConaughey's character (unattractively named Dirk Pitt) should have had skin that looked considerably more weathered considering the amount of time he was supposed to spend outdoors. It was an action adventure flick in the most classic sense. The buffoon sitting a row behind me definitely had a good time, as was evident from his very hearty chuckles and repetition of the most obvious jokes.

This special brand of idiot needs a few lessons in basic theatre etiquette, and no not in the sense that cellphones should be either turned off, left at home, or placed on vibrate in the discreet crevices of their coat pockets or purses (sorry kids, I'm not advocating the hedonistic suggestion of between the legs). Repetition of obvious jokes must be whispered in an ironic manner and in a quiet voice to an appreciative recipient. Only witty jokes should be pronounced loudly for the comedic enjoyment of the entire audience or one or two rows to the front and to the rear. By limiting the joke to one or two rows one is able to create a lovely murmur in the audience... and a stunning sense of exclusion and envy. You see, those people who weren't within hearing distance become increasingly dejected and depressed as they aren't sitting in range of the cool witty folks who know all the good zingers. That my friends is an impromptu lesson in intellectual snobbery. It's not often that I reveal these secrets, so appreciate my sharing with you today.

One of my sisters tells me that she wants to work abroad this summer. On that note of inspiration I just thought I'd mention that I want to work abroad next year. To accomplish this I just need a slightly smaller computer (the frequently mentioned 12 inch powerbook)for improved portability, my Italian passport (EU citizenship), and at the minimum bi-weekly internet access. I think it can be accomplished.

I fit the profile of the twenty something gypsy perfectly... young, single, and ready to travel. It is essential that I do something a little exciting in the next year even if I know it's just because I'm trying to escape the fate of FSJ drudgery and severe geekness of just doing school all the time. That and I'm tired of the exclamations of shock and surprise when people hear of my relative lack of social experience. It's the proverbial/classic ordeal of the perceived outcast that is taken into the fold and shoved into another mold (that's dramatic flair with a little rhyme tossed in for good measure)... "You can be fixed Raffaella," they coax, "only be a little more like me 'cause I'm hip, I'm cool." And they're right to some extent... because we all need to learn from each other, but what kind of cinderella story would this be if I didn't have some kind of ten-minutes-before-the-end-of-the-movie (now that's inappropriate use of the hyphen) epiphany that I don't need to reinvent myself in order to be thought of as exciting. Thanks to the rental units I possess the brain power to process such powerful thoughts even on little sleep.

anyhow, that's my therapeutic venting for the morning. And since I'm one of those ironic movie talkers I'd like to bring your attention to the irony of my subject line. Now that it's been brought to your attention, it's now your job to make sense of it.

2 hours to write this post, all due to intermittent typing habits resulting from child minding. But it was well worth the effort as I feel lovely and delicious.